


Too Loud

by Vita_S_West



Category: Timeless (TV 2016)
Genre: Cuddling & Snuggling, DUH!!!, Deep Conversations, Emotional Support, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Panic Attacks, Some Swearing, do we detect a SPARK??, dumpster fire fave, i don't know how to metaphor, similes galore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-23
Updated: 2018-08-23
Packaged: 2019-07-01 16:50:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,232
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15778146
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vita_S_West/pseuds/Vita_S_West
Summary: Cabin fever gets to Lucy and Flynn calms her down. "Words failed her; he didn't." (Set during season 2)





	Too Loud

**Author's Note:**

> Set during season 2, after Jessica moves into the bunker. here's some more hurt/comfort/cuddling (i have a modus operandi, if you couldn't tell). I got this idea from a previous ficlet and decided to build on it. Please enjoy. heads up: some swearing & panic attacking.

Lucy sat up abruptly when she heard noises in the hallway. Feet and voices. The world came into a jagged focus. The ache in her ears spread to her eyes and became exponentially worse. The slightly musty smell and daily hubbub of the bunker had been starting to get to her. At first, she thought it was Jiya and Rufus approaching the breakroom and she would be able to go back to her room, but that hope was promptly decimated. She heard Wyatt’s gruff laugh and a woman’s voice— _Jessica_.

Lucy didn’t give her lethargic situation on the breakroom’s couch any more thought. She abandoned her book and left the TV on. It wasn’t as if she’d been reading the book or watching the TV at any rate. She had merely been sitting in front of both, staring without seeing.

Her feet carried her into the opposite hallway and back to her and Jiya’s room. It must have been muscle memory because her blind panic didn’t allow for any rational thoughts.

It wasn’t like there was anywhere else she could go, had she been thinking properly, after all. She couldn’t hide in the bathroom again, as she’d been there all morning and had already received strange and irritated looks for it. Connor was working on the Lifeboat, playing his jazz music, banging tools, and frequently setting off alarms that sounds like airwaves sirens to her. She wanted peace and quiet. Heart pounding in her ears, Lucy paused in front of her door. Easing it open, she tried to avoid the metallic screech of its hinges, but it was impossible. It ground into her ears like talons, but was not nearly as bad as what she found on the other side.

Rufus and Jiya lay sprawled across the beds, cackling loudly. Music blared on the speaker Jiya had hooked up to her iPod. It was something from the nineties, one of those boybands, either NSYNC or the Backstreet Boys. Even though Lucy knew which one it was, she couldn’t think of the name. Not with the crooning voices that sounded more like whines and the beat that sounded more like explosions and Rufus and Jiya’s shouts and snorts of laughter that sounded more like cicadas buzzing. The sounds seemed to block her brain and stop her thoughts. There was nowhere for her to go in this bunker that was _quiet_.

“Oh, hey, Lucy! What’s up?” Rufus called over the music. He quickly jumped off her bed and onto Jiya’s. He meant it to be nice, to make her feel welcome and not take up her space. The camp bed let out a jarring creak, one last abrupt, wiry sound that sank into her eardrums like a corkscrew. It was the straw that broke the camel’s back.

“What’s _up_?” Chest tightening, her breath came out staccato, in rasps. She couldn’t get air in, not properly.

“Lucy, are you—” Jiya didn’t get a chance to finish.

Air was a struggle, but words were not. “I can’t get even a _minute_ of peace and quiet in this hellhole! Everywhere there’s banging and clanging and sirens and whistles! Everywhere I go there’s one of _you_! Do _you_ need to be right here! Doing that in _here_! Right now! Is there nowhere else in this fucking bunker you can go so I can get some peace and quiet!”

The words ran out and what little air she could manage ran out, too. Rufus and Jiya stared, wide eyed. The music paused, break between songs, and for a brief moment Lucy had her wish. Then, the strum of a guitar filled the space and her shock wore off. Panic engulfed her once more.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Lucy breathed.

She sprinted the room, letting the door bang behind her. Her feet carried her back to the washroom. It was the only place to go other than a storage cupboard. She collapsed against the water stained concrete, her chest heaving. She gasped, desperate to suck in air, as a nearby faucet dripped, dripped, dripped.

She lunged at it in a frenzy, twisting it violently, as she realized vaguely that her hands were numb.

“Just _shut up_!” she snarled at it.

From behind her a dry voice called, “I can get a wrench if you like. Fix it that way. I don’t think giving it a piece of your mind is doing much.”

She whipped around, blinking wildly. It was Flynn, standing hesitantly in the half-open doorway, a towel in his hand. His dark hair was ruffled, while a soft turtleneck clung to his form.

“I…”

“Let me get a wrench,” he repeated. This time his voice was softer, as if he were talking to a wild, skittish animal. She nodded mutely and he disappeared.

Alone, Lucy turned slowly back to the sink and caught her reflection in the mirror. She hadn’t even realized she’d been crying. Her skin was clammy and pale, except for the angry red splotches that covered it. No wonder he'd changed his tune so fast, while talking to her.

Hands trembling, she blew her nose on her sleeve. She jumped back at the soft sound of footfalls, and Flynn returned.

“Here, let me…” he said. He gave her a reassuring smile, as if this were the most natural thing in the world, finding her screaming and crying at a leaking faucet.

She watched him crawl under and then roll onto his back, staring at the sliver of skin that emerged on his abdomen as he began to work.

“This tap has been running its mouth about me all week,” he called up to her. “You’re right to put a stop to it.”

She had barely any time to stare at the appearance of the dark trail of hair that disappeared at his waistband.

Flynn announced cheerily, “All done.”

And he was. The room was silent save for the buzz of the fluorescents and the distant drone of the Lifeboat. It was as close to silent at they could get in the bunker.

“Now,” he said, standing up. “Are you all right?” He had his head bent to look at her, and she still had to look up to make eye contact.

“Fine,” she said, her voice scratchy.

“If you want to talk…”

“No—I—it wouldn’t make a difference, okay?”

“Why do you think that?” His brow furrowed in the yellow light.

“You wouldn’t understand,” she snapped.

“Maybe, but it’s not like we’ll find out if you hold it in… I hate to see you upset, Lucy.” He stared at her with those eyes that could bounce between threatening and playful so easily. Now they only looked concerned. She couldn’t deny that he cared, but there was a difference between caring and understanding.

She told him as much.

He agreed and added, “But it may help to try, especially if you’re just going to go back out all over again and still feel the same way.”

That set her off again. The idea of going back into the bunker, into the riot of noise, of never being alone, of waiting, stuck underground, _waiting_ for Rittenhouse to _do_ something, to _summon_ her. She wasn’t their prisoner anymore, but they still controlled her. That idea gripped her chest tighter than a fist. Oxygen became a foreign substance. The feeling that the walls were crushing her—these concrete and metal fucking walls were _suffocating_ her—came over her like a tsunami.

“Easy! Easy now,” Flynn said. Suddenly, he his arm around the waist. He led her to the wall, saying, in a soothing voice, “Sit down, put your head between your knees, easy there, _breathe_.” His hand rubbed her back slowly, tracing circular patterns. “Just concentrate on breathing. In and out. _Slowly_.”

Carefully, she inhaled and exhaled, tears leaking onto her cheeks. “It’s okay,” she said, voice shaking. “I’m okay.”

“I didn’t mean to upset you, Lucy,” he began to say.

“It’s fine,” she insisted.

She sat up straight and his arm remained around her, his hand resting on her shoulder. They sat like that, on the floor for several minutes. Gradually her breathing calmed.

“So, what’s going on, Lucy?” he asked after a few minutes more.

“I feel—it’s nothing.” She tensed and stopped herself.

“No, it’s not nothing. What’s going on?” He wouldn’t let it go and she realized that she didn’t want him to.

“I just feel so—so trapped… It’s so loud and I’ve had this headache all day and I can’t get out. _None_ of us can get out, I know that. And I know I should feel better. Grateful. I’m here and not with my mother, with Rittenhouse. I mean, I _am_ free. I got away from them. It could be _so_ much worse, but being stuck down here, where it’s dark and fluorescent and grey and cement and we’re all in each other’s space it’s just so—so—so—”

Words failed her; he didn't.

“Claustrophobic,” he offered softly, with a knowing nod. “I know _exactly_ how you feel.”

She fell silent with her mouth slightly open. Of course, he did, she realized. He had been in maximum security prison. Where Rittenhouse’s captivity had been somewhat more luxurious, with queen sized bed, rooms stinking of potpourri, plush carpets and practically gourmet cuisine, he had been behind bars and shanked.

She closed her mouth and nodded. “Garcia, I have all of these moments where I wish for Rittenhouse to take out the Mothership, for them to try and wreck the world, so that I can get out of here.”

“I do the same. Especially in the lineup for the bathroom or listening to Wyatt eat cereal with his mouth open. We’re all getting on each other’s nerves down here.” He gave her a smile, and she felt warmth despite the dampness of the bathroom.

“I get this sick satisfaction when I get out and this—this thrill at getting out and fighting them,” she said, her voice rising and her colour returning. “And the _adrenaline_ it’s unbelievable. I don’t even know how to describe it! It’s like—”

“It’s like you’ve never felt so alive and then at the end of it you have to come back here. Where it’s all grey and the same.”

Lucy nodded emphatically. “Yes. Yes, that’s it… And then I feel the same as I did before, only it’s worse because now I have something fresher in my mind to compare it with. You feel the same way.”

It wasn’t a question. She held him with her gaze, studying him slowly, his thick brows, the intensity in his eyes, and a slight smile touching his lips.

“All the time.” His voice is a little thick. “Lucy, you shouldn’t feel guilty for the way you feel. For wanting to be free or for wanting adventure. There could be nothing more natural. It’s not wrong for you to feel joy. You deserve to.”

He pulled her closer, tighter, and she felt herself relax, relax enough to tell him, “I don’t know if it’s joy, or the only coping mechanism I have other than alcohol.”

His face fell as he looked into hers. “Lucy, maybe you should—”

“It’s not like I can leave! I can’t leave any of any of this or any you behind. I can’t get out because Rittenhouse would find me—my mother would find me—and even if I hid, I wouldn’t be able to live with myself. No. No, Garcia, the only way out is through. I _know_ that. I… I just feel so alone.”

She deflated. It felt like a weight was gone, but also as if she were irreparably empty.

He wrapped his other arm around her, pulling her closer still. She was nearly on his lap. She rested her head on his shoulder, fingers hanging onto his shirt. “I’ve got you,” he said softly into her ear. “You’re not alone. I’ve got you. Rufus and Jiya they’ve got you. Same with Christopher and Connor. We’ve all got you.”

“Oh, God,” she realized suddenly. “Rufus ad Jiya! I _screamed_ at them!”

“It’ll be okay. You’ll apologize and it’ll be okay. We all get cabin fever. We all get lonely and angry. And there will be an easier way through this. Even if it’s getting Christopher to let you out with a wig every once in a while. Or scented candles. Aroma therapy, something to make the day easier.”

“Aroma therapy?” she laughed, thinking it was his sarcasm.

“It worked well for my mother, you know.”

“Oh,” she said. She had no idea how to respond to that. She didn’t need to. The thread of conversation drifted away and they stayed like that for a while. He was so warm. She could here his heart beat, a soothing sound.Relaxing into his arms, her eyes started to droop. 

“Are you feeling better?” he asked softly, rousing her.

“Um… yes. I think so, but Garcia, could you hold me for a little while longer?”

Hesitantly, she pulled away slightly to look into his face.

He smiled at. "Yes, but we should go somewhere more comfortable. Let people have free reign over the washroom.”

It took some effort, but she pushed herself to her feet. Leaning against Flynn, she followed him to his room, and they took a long nap on a narrow bed that was steadily growing more familiar to Lucy.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed. It'll be a while till my next garcy fic, I'm writing a longer one and like to have it written entirely before posting. but, when it comes there will be some.... fake dating >:)


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